Helen Russell
A light dusting of snow is falling outside the window as I remove the film from a brand-new notebook. I run the heel of my hand down its stiff centre until two blank pages of cream, lined paper are fully exposed. Then I get a pen and write today’s date. And this feels like a very good place to start.
Battered and bruised by 2016, the past 12 months have left me broken at times. As well as the disappointments and losses that have befallen the world, there have been personal ones, too. A family friend I’d adored passed away and, in one of his final messages, he talked about how he was frustrated that he’d let fear hold him back. He told me if I wanted to change anything, I should just do it. Now. So I promised to try.